Twenty-seven years. I have lived without him longer than I got to walk this earth with him.
Maybe it is the fact that this pandemic already has me on an emotional roller-coaster, or maybe it is that the pandemic has stolen my normal. See Daddy died a couple of days after Thanksgiving -- November 27, 1993. So the anniversary always falls right around the holiday. And at the risk of sounding cliche, I am thankful. See if there was an award for making random traditions with your family around a holiday, I would be amongst the top contenders. I can throw myself into celebrating like you have never seen. And I have. And I do.
Except this year. This stupid pandemic is stealing all my normal routines, my normal go-tos for making these days about something other than the immense grief that sits on my chest.
I miss you, Daddy.
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